


jagged lines upon the surface of the divine

by judgehangman



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Experimental Style, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8727430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgehangman/pseuds/judgehangman
Summary: Dancing halfway between life and death, you were poisoned divinity and he was mortality interrupted.(Yet another fic about the horror of their contract)





	

**Author's Note:**

> See that tag? Please, if you can, give me concrit (or just stuff like "i liked this bit but didn't like/understand this bit"). This is only my second ever fic in a style like this. Please feel free to point out any typos, I seem to have a habit not to notice them until months later.

You two first met at a strange time in your existence. At first, he was a child and you were the big bad wolf wanting to feast on cracked bones. He was quiet and quivering words, confidence hidden in jaded acceptance, and his orders had no true power but you obeyed them nonetheless.

He grew up as the sunlight through the windows and the tears he wouldn’t let fall until he was alone and the anger building up in your chest until one day it rose through your throat and the words spilled from your mouth, boiling and red and bloody. He watched you as you broke, and his reply was a nod and you wanted to scream some more, but he wiped your tears and pulled you closer and that was the first time you thought about love.

And you always told him not to look for meaning in the stars, that it was futile to try and make sense of chaos, but you were a billion little pieces until he pulled you into focus. And you thought it made you holy, but your divinity was lost long ago and you were never greater than the sum of your broken parts.

Your love for him was a natural disaster, an avalanche caused by the earthquake that broke your foundations. He was absinthe and magic, a man who turned to dust everything that was golden and coloured golden the ashes in his wake. He kissed your lips like _he_ was the demon wanting to devour your soul, but he was cold and ethereal and distant like heaven, and you craved every single one of the holy touches that burnt your skin.

But there was nothing holy in the way he broke you, how his voice was barely a whisper when he told you to destroy the world that once worshiped you. You tried to argue with him, to tell him that you couldn’t do something like that again, but your god was cruel and the power in his words made you fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness through gritted teeth when you thought of disobeying, and that was the first time you feared his power over you.

Later, when you choked on your words and felt the fire inside you burn your soul into coal, he touched you with gentle fingers and forgave you for your sins. You were a heretic in his eyes, and yet his sole believer, so he made his body a temple and you worshiped him until his name on your lips became a prayer.

Dancing halfway between life and death, you were poisoned divinity and he was mortality interrupted — together, a god and his believer, you were apostasy and apotheosis combined. But it was too much and it had to stop; stop before anything else was lost for the angels took from him everyone he’s ever loved (you accepted, of course, that he never loved you at all, but there was still a bitter aftertaste whenever he said things like that with his lips close to your skin).

And so it stopped: he challenged the universe and the ones who gave him wisdom, because they also gave him pain. You would’ve bathed him their blood if he asked you, but he wanted no war or vengeance: he wanted to make himself the sacrificial lamb to placate an angry god.

Your hands shook when you killed him and your sadness was a thunderstorm. It poured over you until you drowned, but you kept on breathing even though you wanted it to choke you to death like you choked him. You felt the anger build up in your chest but this time you couldn’t find anyone else to blame for what you’d done, so you thought about destroying yourself. You could barely hear the fire as it ate through your flesh, until the anger turned to sorrow and burst through your chest in a scream and you fell to your knees trembling underneath your glass dome, hoping your tears could mend the cracks.

You meet him again. And again. And again. And again. You’re getting tired of the soulmate storyline — it’s never as lovely as people make it to be. You’re bound to his will, to his power, for the rest of eternity and you are a slave of a love you wish to leave behind. Even so, you kill him again. And again. And again. And again. You have been tired of this even before it began.

You keep going, you think. Day after day, one step at a time. Dancing this death waltz. You think there must be reason for all of this. That Solomon must have a plan.

(But didn’t anyone ever tell you? That it is futile to try to make sense of the chaos?)


End file.
